Chapter 47

“Mr. Painter, this is Quixote.”

“Painter here.”

“Are you certain the ship’s illumination was routed through the low power system?”

“Of course, sir.”

“The ship is experiencing random blackouts, including sick bay.”

“Impossible.”

“Mr. Painter, I assure you, I do not have time to play games. Find out what happened and repair it.”

“Aye, sir, Painter out,” was the unmistakably weary reply.

Quixote stopped at the door to sick bay and tapped a number pad to override the lock failure, but the number pad was non-functioning. Xe lodged a pointed claw behind the panel, popping it off; inside a manual, mechanical toggle switch unlatched the apparatus.

Emergency lights had engaged in the sick bay, but from the limited areas lit, only essential functions operated on a per-patient basis.

“Quixote. Kym Byrd just spent hours rerouting our power and this is all we have. What if I need to perform surgery?” Adams grumbled.

“Ensure that you don’t, Doctor. I need to check the access box.” Adams pointed to the panel where Ms. Byrd lay on the floor, asleep next to it. Quixote promptly, gently, picked up his engineer and carried her to a patient bed. She woke briefly, then resumed her slumber.

Checking on the work she’d done, Quixote contorted into the small space and poked at a couple of intersected links. The problem was not in her work.

“Cerebrus must have anticipated our move and diverted the routing to his own design,” the reptile sighed. What else had the mechanical man done that needed undoing?

“But I still have power for the patient alcoves.”

“His actions confuse me. It’s as if he wants to stop us, but he’s not risking the patients. Patient functions are separate from the general functions, computers and the like.”

“We’re at Cerebrus’ mercy,” Adams said quietly.

“Not for long. I’ll be on the bridge, Doctor.”

Quixote focused on the single stripe of floor lighting in the corridor, a vivid white, single centimeter wide strip that rolled toward the stairwells. And stairs never stopped working because of a power failure.

Xe entered from the aft bridge, barely placing one large foot on the deck when xe called out “What’s our status?”

“No change, Commander. We’re still flying at 5^th power, no communication, intermittent power to helm.” Mr. May didn’t take his eyes off the console.

“How’s that command code coming?”

“I am making some progress, Commander,” Mr. Watson said. “I have ‘niner-star-earth-earth’ so far.”

“Gentlemen, other than Mr. Rougeau, who was Cerebrus’ primary instructor since coming aboard?”

“Captain Jackson,” May said. Quixote closed xes tangerine eyes.

“Exactly. Captain Jackson. And Cerebrus has tried all the same hostile takeover procedures that he would. He locked flight controls, changed environmental control, then rerouted power in anticipation of our reroute.” The commander turned to Watson. “Try numerals, Mr. Watson. The captain’s pattern indicates repetitive words and numbers. I suspect our Cerebrus’ may as well.”

“Aye, Commander!”

“I’m going to cut the engines soon. We can’t get them to go where we want, but I can get them to stop,” Quixote said.

“We’ll lose a lot of systems, sir.”

“I am counting on that. Stand by. Mr. Watson should have that code beaten momentarily. I recommend you employ your safety harnesses, gentlemen.”

With that the reptile trotted down the stairs to engineering, which was no simple feat with a fifty-kilogram tail and four flights. Xe placed one clawed hand on the neutron control, the other accessed the intercom.

“Attention all crew. This is Commander Quixote. Prepare for zero G, protocols beta and epsilon. Prepare for zero-G, protocols beta and epsilon, in 10 seconds.”

Xe pulled the heavy lever down, then proceeded to press several old-style buttons, with metallic connections, and throw two toggle switches, also old style with copper connections. Not constructed of fiber optics, not quantum, not EM waves, these electron-flow circuit breakers were impossible to remotely control, and impossible to engage by accident.

As the plasma flow stopped, the ship would eventually slow down if they could aim for a space body of some kind – a wayward moon or some other nearby object, nearby being a relative term, and dependent on Mr. Watson’s skill with the code-generator.

Quixote drifted to the stairs and allowed the weightlessness to assist xes transcendence to the center deck. Once there, xe selected the heaviest, largest magnetic boots available in the supply cabinet. Unable to fit an elephant-sized foot into human-sized boots, xe took two strips of nylon webbing, wrapped them around both the boot and xes foot, then ratcheted each tie securely. Simple magnetism offered enough gravity to keep the wearer near enough to the deck to function, yet remain mobile.

Clomping down the corridor, xe was certain Cerebrus would hear, or feel, him coming. He might even open the door, if he could swim to it. Indeed, as Quixote arrived in front of Cerebrus’ quarters, the door slid open and a red laser beam shot out, entirely without aim, blasting a hole in the opposite bulkhead. Xe peered in and saw Cerebrus floating aimlessly, unable to grip anything in his spartan cabin. Quixote walked in, grabbed the android by one limb and disarmed him with ease.

“What are you doing?” Cerebrus asked with evident indignity. Quixote marched out of the cabin and stomped down the corridor with Cerebrus floating alongside, unable to squirm free of the reptile’s grip.

“Putting a mutineer in the brig.”

“I didn’t overthrow the captain,” he said.

“You took the ship! It’s the same bloody thing. Captain Jackson is synonymous with Maria Mitchell.”

When Quixote returned to the bridge, Watson had good news, which was a welcome change.

“After I tried the number sequences, it came pretty quick,” Watson explained. “Then we got the helm to respond.”

“Your idea was spot on, Commander,” May chimed in. “I found an ancient bit of some stray rock, and we’re headed it for it now on momentum,” May said.

“I’ve locked the android in the brig. Let’s get propulsion back online and head back to Tau Ceti.”

“It’s just two days back to Tau Ceti D.”

“Excellent. Very good, gentlemen. Let’s get communications online now so we can contact the captain.”

The Draconian wanted no more command duty of the Science Ship Maria Mitchell, and was fully prepared to accept whatever discipline Captain Jackson would have ready to dispense. Perhaps, if xe were reduced in rank by half a bar to Lieutenant Commander, xe could return to a comparatively sedentary animation in the engineering department.

At least xe fervently hoped so.

☯

Inside the Osprey, Jackson used the lav and the shower, then changed into a uniform, dumping his sweat, dirt, and blood covered clothes into a corner. He felt human again, ready to confront Terra Ceti’s administration about the radioactive waste in orbit. He was prepared to cut all ties between Space Admin and Tau Ceti D if they weren’t at least willing to acknowledge the situation. The negotiations, however, he’d leave to admirals and diplomats, if, er, when they got back to Earth.

He turned the homing frequency to variable so it was recognizable on any wavelength; he selected a pre-programmed repetitive pattern, the coordinates of Earth in relation to the nearest pulsar with a stable interval. The only thing left to do was go back to Jake’s house.

Jackson took a last glance around the cabin before he popped the hatch; a red light caught his eye. Stepping to the console the light’s label was ‘communication’. He pressed the lit button.

This is the Kiian cargo ship Wingaqvest. Terra Ceti compound on Tau Ceti D requested we relay a message to you from the scientific ship Maria Mitchell. It was received at 19:33 TCD time, full universal date 013.781. 101.959 + 244.102. The ship’s long-range communication is damaged, but short range is functioning. Following is a duplicate of the message we received:

To any ship within receiving range, this is the Earth Science Ship Maria Mitchell, Commander Quixote in command. Our long-range communication has been destroyed. We are in route to Tau Ceti D after a hostile takeover. We respectfully request that this message be relayed to our transport vehicle on Tau Ceti D, at the encoded coordinates. Thank you for your generosity.

Captain Jackson sat and let out a vast sigh, his chin dropping to his chest, relieved that Maria Mitchell was intact. As for the rest of the message, and the lack of information it contained, his fingers grew cold. He stood, cleared his throat, thrust his shoulders back, and confirmed that his internal compass pointed to Rianya.